


Palikaya

by TeaOli



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-19
Updated: 2012-03-19
Packaged: 2017-11-02 07:04:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/366268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaOli/pseuds/TeaOli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life is like shifting sands or snow: we can sometimes shape it, but we cannot control its form forever</p>
            </blockquote>





	Palikaya

**Palikaya**

It would have been useless to hide her lack of enthusiasm, so Uhura didn’t try. Contrary to popular belief, man Vulcans readily recognized even subtlest of the emotions others displayed, and that ability was vastly increased within close interpersonal relationships. More to the point, Spock knew she had no love for cold weather.

She considered refusing to go with him, of course. Not because of the location, although that would have been a handy excuse had he been anyone other than who he was. No, her reason was better than that: Taking the first-ever vacation with the man you could only now openly love after whatever relationship you may or may not have been having _after_ said nebulous relationship was doomed to fail wasn’t only illogical, it was downright stupid.

Nyota Uhura wasn’t stupid. She was, at times, irrational, illogical… _emotional_ , but she was never stupid.

Then again, Spock wasn’t stupid, either. And he was only rarely illogical. So it stood to reason…

Uhura didn’t want to waste time deducing what kind of behavior stood to reason for her not-stupid,  mostly logical sort-of boyfriend. She said yes, and almost managed to believe the lie that she wasn’t getting her hopes up.

.

The protocols set in place to reverse the effects of global warming not due to natural climate change had worked well. Mid-coast Maine was _cold_ in late December. Much more so than her research had led her to believe. And there was snow. Far more of it than she would have expected, considering Spock had chosen a bed and breakfast in a quaint seaside town for their nine-day stay.

“I thought, if anything, there would be more ice,” she told him, “because of the sea air.” She knew he was listening, although he didn’t look at her as they slogged up the front path to the B&B, calf-deep the white stuff.

Well, calf-deep for _her_. And a glance at Spock’s smooth stride showed she was the only one slogging. Even such unaccustomed terrain didn’t steal his grace. Nyota fit her feet into the footprints she only just noticed matched _her_ usual stride rather that his long-legged gait.

“I am surprised you have not done your research, ashayam,” he said, still without turning. “Shellport’s location on Panawahpskek Sound is largely responsible for its ideal winter climate.” 

She didn’t think much of anything about the weather was “ideal,” though she supposed the snug little houses and snowy streets must have called to mind happy holovid winters for those who liked those kinds of movies. She’d never seen the point of those, and Spock knew it, so she just kept trudging in his footprints.

.

Inside the bed and breakfast was like something out of a holovid, too: 

Artificial logs fueled a roaring fire, casting a red-gold glow on everything in the front parlor. Three deep sofas and loveseats upholstered in dark brown velvet, colorful throws draped artlessly across their backs, sat among New England-style wood chairs and tables.

Carvings – scrimshaw and more wood – lay scattered along the stone mantelpiece. A large, south-facing window dominated one roughly plastered wall, the large fireplace took up most of another. The rest were covered with clocks of ever kind, each quietly ticking to mark the time.

The entire effect should have been an off-putting mish-mash. An annoying hodgepodge with a confusing chorus of soft clicks making things worse.

Instead, the room was soothing. 

Uhura let Spock guide her to the loveseat beneath the window, sat with him in a space so small they couldn’t avoid physical contact. And why not? Their hostess had led them to a single room with only one bed. If she had a problem with touching him, she wouldn't be sleeping next to him later.

 

She didn’t look at the clocks to see how long they sat without speaking, the rhythmic ticking and the snapping fire providing the only sound. His hand found hers and she could feel he was at peace, possibly for the first time since they’d watched his world – and his mother – disappear from the universe.

.

“I was thirteen years old before I saw snow,” he told her.

December days were short this far north, and darkness had already fallen, although – as a quick glance at the wall of clocks confirmed – it was only late afternoon.

Spock’s thumb traced circles on her palm.

“Father’s work and Mother’s relatives brought us to Earth often, but never to any place that was experiencing winter. We could have traveled to such a place during any of our visits, but Father found cold weather unappealing and Mother did not appear to miss it. I learned about climates at school, so they decided there would have been no true educational value giving me a first-hand introduction to the pleasures of winter on Earth.”

There. It was almost imperceptible, but she heard it. Only the second spark of humor in his voice in the months that had passed since their triumphant return to Earth. Only the second hint she’d detected of the Spock she’d learned to love, and the first had come only that morning when he’d teased her in the snow.

She laughed, made a joke of her own about the dubious pleasure. Having grown up in equatorial Africa, she shared Sarek’s distaste for the cold.   

He didn’t laugh, of course. But she could see amusement glittering in his dark eyes when he looked at her. His hand squeezed hers, his thumb continued tracing circles. He went on.

“When I was thirteen, my grandmother’s brother died. Mother had been particularly close to her uncle, and Father did not hesitate to comply when she said we should attend his funeral.

“Once the Ecology Preservation Acts were enacted, land development in south-western Arizona came to a near-standstill. But both of my mother’s parents came from families claiming Quechan ancestry. The Graysons and the Velasquezes were among the few to remain when many others were asked to leave – or chose to leave. By the time my grandparents were born, nature –  with assistance from man – had reclaimed much of the area as desert. Although the nights there could get quite cold by Vulcan standards, there was no snow during the week we visited for Tío Teo’s funeral.”

This time, his pause was longer, and she could feel some of the peace seeping out of him. Uhura squeezed his hand, brought it to her lips.

“Thank you, Nyota,” he whispered, catching and holding her gaze for several seconds before returning to his story.

“Father returned to Vulcan alone,” he said. “His work was more important than human grief. That was my interpretation. It made me angry to see him choose Vulcan over his bondmate. Although my koon-ut-la had occurred six years before, T’Pring had already told me she did not wish to deepen our bond, so I had little understanding of how the bond _should_ work, or of how strong it could be with a choice mate.”

The woman who had once promised to spurn Spock during what he would only refer to as his “Time” was months dead, but even so, hearing the name made Uhura’s jaw clench. 

He gave her a knowing look, as if he was sharing her thoughts. More likely, he could feel what she was feeling through the hand he still clasped, but that and the fact that he knew her so well were enough. 

“I was no more her choice than she was mine,” he said quietly.

He let that sink in, waited until her protective anger diminished somewhat before continuing.

“Mother was not pleased when I refused Father’s va’kaunshau-rok, but she knew my defiance must have a reason and asked me about it after he’d gone. Then she brought me here.”

.  
.

One of the least useful features of Grandmother’s house was little-used veranda running along the front of the structure. Neither Grandmother nor Grandfather could bear to use it in the summer; in winter, it seemed, they were both too busy to sit on the dusty swing or the low, uncomfortably soft couch Grandfather had upholstered in fabric he claimed was sturdy enough to withstand the arid air and the stiff winds that sometimes stirred the sand and pebble yard.

Hanging from a post supporting the porch roof, an old thermometer displayed the chilling ambient temperature: 22.22°C. Grandfather would insist on expressing that in the terms of his childhood and claim that 72°F was perfect weather for being out of doors.

Spock pulled the sleeves his sweater – made of mottled brown and tan wool taken from the desert goats Grandmother raised – over his cold fingers. He moved to the far end of the porch and sat, cross-legged, on the sand-scoured and sun-bleached wooden floor.  

His position – sitting perpendicular to the front of the house – gave him a view of the pale gold sands, dotted here and there with pale green desert flora. It looked nothing like the deserts of Vulcan.

Mother joined him after only nine point two minutes.

“Why didn’t you accept your father’s wish for a reunion?”

“If he did not leave you behind,” he said without turning her, “there would be no need for a reunion.”

“Sarek has to work.” She moved till she stood in front of him. “He put many things aside to come here with us. Duties to his people and planet.”

His head snapped up so she could see the rage burning in his eyes. “And that is more important than his duty to his grieving wife?”

“Oh, Spock.” His mother’s expression hovered somewhere between amused and sad. Spock didn’t like either one. “Your father is always with me. As long as we’re both alive, he can never leave me. Bond-mates… bond-mates don’t need va’kaunshau-rok because we are never parted.”

Nine thousand three hundred forty-seven hours had passed since he’d last lost his temper. Well over a year as time was counted on Vulcan as well as on Earth.

Nine thousand three hundred forty-five hours ago, his father had told him he would “always be a child of two worlds.”

She sat next to him, taking his hand in hers. He felt her open to him – the bond between sa-fu and ko-mekh unfurling. Blossoming. If he wished, he could block her. Shut her off from the shameful anger he still felt on her behalf.

“It’s different with a son, Spock. The bond is different. And for all your father’s belief in kaiidth, the formal farewell is important him. Because _you_ are important to him.”

.  
.

“I didn’t believe her,” he said. “About neither what she said about her bond with my father, nor about his farewell to me. I thought she allowed her human emotions to delude her about what value my father saw in her, in his marriage to her. I believed she mistook her feelings about me for my father’s.”

In spite of the solemn story, Uhura smiled. Of course a thirteen year old Spock hadn’t believed Amanda Grayson.

“I’ll bet you told her that, didn’t you?”

Spock’s eyes gleamed, and his lips lifted at the corners.

“Of course I did. That is why she brought me here.”

.  
.

They left Grandmother’s home, and he learned was winter really was. Shellport was as cold and damp as Arena Caliente had been hot and warm. The ground was hard and frozen. The leafless trees looked dead in their winter dormancy.

Spock had been bewildered when his mother told him visiting the place would help him understand why va’kaunshau-rok was so important to his father. Arriving at the small shingle-style cottage with its deep porches and balconies accented with the odd overhangs of the second storey didn’t make anything clearer.

Luci Ocasio, the owner of the Zurvan Inn, had known Amanda since they were children together. She was an artist, and her depictions of the time deity could be found through the bed and breakfast she managed.

“I was so eager to live somewhere that wasn’t a desert, just like your mother!” she told Spock the first night. “But then, just like your mother, I married a man from a different desert and followed him there.”

She didn’t say how she’d gone from exchanging one desert for another to living in an old town by the sea. 

But Spock didn’t ask.

Instead, he listened as she showed him the parlor with the wall of clocks. Then she pointed to the frieze of Aeternitas with her phoenix carved above the fireplace and explained that though she believed time was cyclic, it was also precious.

“I believe all life can be reborn,” Luci said, “but that is no reason not to fully appreciate it every time.”

.  
.

“She had been away from home when her husband – the man she called her ‘desert muse’ – was injured.”

Uhura squeezed his hand again.

“She said she’d needed to breathe by the sea,” Spock continued. “His work kept him from going with her that time, but was happy to send her there because he knew it pleased her.”

He paused again, and his eyes drifted up the goddess over the fireplace.

“She returned to his desert as soon as word was sent, and promised never to leave the desert again if he would stay with her. But—”

“But he said he would always be with me,” their hostess said. “That what I needed was the sea and air I could breathe. That life was like shifting sands or snow: we can sometimes shape it, but cannot control its form forever. He told me we’d already made beautiful things from sand, even though the wind was blowing them away; it was time to try my hand at snow.”

Uhura had been too absorbed in what Spock was saying to hear the older woman arrive with a tray of hot cocoa and warm gingerbread.

“So when he died, I came here,” Luci told her. “In summer and autumn and spring, this is only my home. But in winter, those who are at a shift in the cycle are welcome to see what new shapes they can form.”

She left as quietly as she had come.

Letting go of her hand for the first time since he’d begun his story, Spock gave her the first cup and took the second for himself.

“I woke up before the sun rose the next morning. Luci and Mother were both still asleep. I came down to this room because I wanted to get a closer look at the carving of Aeternitas.

“The fire was banked and Luci’s security lights made the outside brighter than inside, so I went to close the shutters. But when I reached the window, I found that I wasn’t so interested in the frieze after all.

“Outside, the wind was blowing as snow fell, making new shapes every second.”

**Author's Note:**

>  **A/N:** This was written as a very, very late holiday and birthday fic for Aphrodite319.
> 
>  
> 
>  _Palikaya_ means “beginning”. _Ashayam_ is an endearment. _Va'kaunshau-rok_ is a word I made up from the elements meaning “again”, “unite" and “hope”.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any Star Trek Concepts or characters, and do not make money or receive any kind of compensation for writing about them.


End file.
